


Wash, Rinse, Repeat

by ficwriter103



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Amnesia, Forbidden Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficwriter103/pseuds/ficwriter103
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Steve doesn't remember his mistakes, what is going to stop him from repeating them again? Nothing really, it becomes an endless cycle of Wash, Rinse, Repeat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wash, Rinse, Repeat

Steve doesn't remember what he did to make Cecil hate him so much. His memories don't start from his childhood or school. They start from the day he wakes up in front of the mine shaft, dusty and sore all over. Steve thinks that whatever he did, it must be really bad though, because the rest of the town hates him too.

He gets plastic, not quite there, smiles at the grocers. The imaginary corn that John Peter's sends him aren't quite imaginary. Steve can't decide if that's a good thing or not. The slices he get at Big Rico's aren't as big as the ones other people get. The angels that supposedly don't exist avoid him. Old Woman Josie smiles at him, somewhat, but she never talks to him, even if he says hi. No one initiates conversation with him. They don't go out of their way to be mean, or make life difficult. They just move around him like he's a bent puzzle piece that doesn't fit anymore.

The Apache Tracker talks to him but Cecil announces over the radio that it is only because they're both jerks. Racist jerks. The Apache Tracker disappears for a bit after that. Steve doesn't know whether to be glad or not. On one hand, he has no one to talk to anymore. On the other hand, he doesn't want to be a racist jerk, even if it's only by proxy.

He wanders around, filling up the loneliness by questioning the weird things in Night Vale. He tries to drive to another state but he ends up following the road back into town before long. Steve doesn't understand how he can drive north continuously and still end up near the dog park after 5 hours but he's too tired to do anything about it.

 

 

 

 

The sandstorm is a horrible thing. It is horrible and it is amazing. Steve kills his double. Just because he questions everything in Night Vale, doesn't mean that Steve is oblivious to how to protect himself.

As he stands in the dusty, sandy living room with the bloody body of his look-alike sprawled on the sofa like a grotesque art piece, he hears the voice over the radio say something.

The man, a cheerful sweet-sounding man, says

_"Steve writes, "This sandstorm is clearly a cover-up. I believe this was a government-created project. Our government has long been participating in cloud-seeding experiments, and-"_

Steve blinks in surprise. He is unsure of what he is hearing. Is someone other than Cecil reading his emails? Is someone really paying attention to his words?

_"-Let me stop you right there, Steve Carlsburg!"_

Steve winces. He expects the usual. The degradatory remarks, the hatred and vitriol are common. He braces himself, taking a deep breath to prepare himself for the onslaught of scathing remarks.

_"You have hit the nail on the head. Say no more! The government is indeed covering up their involvement or should I say, lack of involvement in this sandstorm."_

Steve blinks several times. He is unsure that he is hearing right. This cannot be right.

_"Honestly, I don't think the government even knows how to orchestrate a project of this magnitude, and of this quality. You need a well-run private business like, say, StrexCorp, that has not only the faculties and materials to execute a massive geologic and psychedelic storm, but to do so inexpensively, and without tax dollars._

_Why, without StrexCorp, and companies like it, we wouldn't have trade schools, or regulated behaviors, or insurance, or helpful pandemics, or black helicopters!_

_Thank you for your email, Steve. What a great guy!"_

 

 

  
Steve stands there shellshocked. His face feels hot and warm and uncomfortable. He clenches his fist around the handle of the kitchen knife. Such a chipper sounding voice, such sweetness in it. Steve wonders who it is.

He exhales as he commits that last sentence to his memory. He never wants to forget it.

Steve waits impatiently for the sandstorm to send him back. As he waits, he paces the living room. This man, his double, lives just like him. His coffee table, his chairs, the fire place, they are all in the same places. The only difference is that the decor is different. They are all themed with body parts and viscera. Steve shivers, careful not to touch anything.

He stares at the pile of mail. Steve-double hasn't paid his bills for this month either. The house number is the same. The street name is slightly different. The town name reads _'Desert Bluffs'_.

Steve shivers. Desert Bluffs.

He has been told to fear it, to shy away from it. He has been told that Desert Bluffs is evil, it is bad, it is horrible.

But there is such a sweet sounding man here.

Before he can think more on this, the sand whisks him back to his home.

 

 

Steve returns to his routine in life. The five words echo in his mind over and over again. The voice warps, going from whispering " _What a great guy_ " to hissing the vitrol that Cecil directs his way. The voice has no reason to be nice to him anyway. The voice doesn't know what horrible things Steve has supposedly done. The voice doesn't know Steve at all.

It is hard to cope but Steve forces himself to put one foot in front of the other and continue to live. It's not like he hasn't tried to die. He hasn't succeeded yet. The council apparently disallowed it. It's another point that Cecil makes, saying he's a pompous ass for thinking he earned death already.

Steve tunes out the remarks and tries to imagine the voice he heard in Desert Bluffs instead.

He tries to imagine the voice saying things like " _Steve Carlsberg, what a jerk!_ ". Steve tries to align the pitch and timbre to the weather. He wonders if the announcer can sing. He supposes that such a cheerful voice has to belong to a cheerful person.

Steve manages to go his routine for two weeks. Well, two arbitary weeks because time doesn't work here.

At the start of the third week, he consults a map and drives towards Desert Bluffs

 

 

 

Steve arrives at the rival town at midday. Or what he supposes should be midday. It seems to have been midday for quite some time already.

He asks the intern to pass on his message, then nervously waits outside for the radio announcer to be done with his show.

Kevin. The intern had said that the owner of the happy voice was called Kevin. Steve files the name away. He recalls the 5 words again and smiles to himself. He assures himself that Kevin is nice on air but that is the end of it. Steve convinces himself that when he comes face to face with the voice, Kevin will give him the plastic, not quite there smile, and then make some excuses and leave. Steve tells himself that Kevin won't be so nice in person.

"Are you Steve Carlsberg?"

Steve looks up. Kevin is smiling at him. It is a plastic smile. It looks like it has been there for a bit too long, that someone forced it there and wouldn't let Kevin stop smiling until it stuck. Steve shivers at the thought.

"I remember you! You sent us an email a while back!" Kevin's smile turns in to a wide grin. His eyes crinkle. It's not quite genuine, but it is more than what Steve is used to. Steve hesitates. He wants to go. He should go. He smiles as genuinely as he can at Kevin, then turns to leave.

"Wait! Can I get to know you? Please? You really are a great guy." Kevin says. Steve freezes.

Of all the things he convinces himself will happen, this was so far down the line that Steve hadn't considered it even once.

He turns to look at Kevin's earnest face. There is no deceit there. Or if there is, Steve is just too stupid to see it.

"You really think that?" Steve asks Kevin.

"Well, I think you could be better than great." Kevin says softly. His smile is plastic still. Somehow, it doesn't bother Steve as much as it did mere seconds ago. They stand like that for a bit, just staring at each other.

"Please?" Kevin says again. He sounds real and Steve... well, it would be nice to have some friendly conversation.

 

 

 

 

  
Kevin takes him to a diner. Steve doesn't remember the name. He's too busy laughing when Kevin tells him about the time the dogs in the dog park got loose and ran down the cats in the cat park. Steve says it's illogical to have a cat park because cats do as the please and climb where they please. Kevin agrees with him but citizens have argued for equal rights and that means for pets too.

They talk about everything and nothing and they eat a lagsana together. It doesn't taste good at all but Steve doesn't really mind. He's having a casual, continuous conversation with someone! It's freeing, it's amazing.

It's also getting dark. Steve stands to leave but Kevin lays his hand over Steve's.

"Come on, Steve. Stay?" He asks. Steve hesitates. Stay? Stay where?

He voices this question. Kevin drops his gaze and stutters.

"I was hoping, my place?"

Such a sweet chipper voice and it's proposing Steve stay. No one has ever asked him to stay. No one ever even pretended to want him to stay.

A part of him says it's so wrong. Despite all it's hatred of him, Night Vale is still his home and this is a betrayal. But he wants this so badly. Even if Steve has to go back to Night Vale and all the thinly veiled animosity, at least he will have one night to remember.

So Steve says yes.

Kevin's smile widens. It looks sincere. But only just. Steve smiles back.

 

 

 

 

 

Kevin's apartment isn't large or opulent. Thankfully, his furniture is all normal furniture. Steve doesn't like the large sculpture that spells out StrexCorp! that sits on the the coffee table, but he can't complain. Not when Kevin turns to him and kisses him.

Steve thinks that he's done this before. Kevin's mouth against Steve's lips feels oh so familiar. Steve opens his mouth and kisses back. He strips off his jacket and shirt sloppily, tossing them over the couch. Kevin is hopping on one foot, trying to get his boots off as they stumble towards the bedroom.

The squishy noises that the bed makes when the two of them flop onto it are very creepy but Steve ignores that in favour of kissing Kevin again.

"You're not great," Kevin says breathily "You're amazing!"

Steve's face heats up again. He must be blushing. Kevin nibbles his earlobe and scoots over to the bedside table. He tosses the lube to Steve.

Steve isn't sure if he's a virgin. He doesn't remember sleeping with anyone. He doesn't remember wanting to sleep with anyone. But his body seems to know what to do. His fingers move quickly, almost by themself as they pop the cap of the tube and squeeze out a fair amount. They wrap around Kevin's hard cock and pump slowly. Kevin groans and whimpers and makes a lot of delicious sounds as Steve builds up the speed.

"Don't stop! Oh Steve you're just amazing!" Kevin says, panting as he grinds up into Steve's fist. Steve finds himself frotting against Kevin's thigh, riding off Kevin's high.

Steve doesn't remember who cums first, or whatever. He remembers teeth clicking together as they kiss passionately. He remembers feeling overwhelmed when Kevin calls him beautiful, amazing, astounding, unbelievable. He remembers having to brace himself on his elbows as he hits the top and comes crashing down.

"That was fantastic."

Steve remembers Kevin saying the words. His not-quite smile looks real in the dim light that filters in from the living room. In their haste, they didn't even bother to turn on the light or close the door.

They shower together. Kevin tries to distract Steve from any actual cleaning but Steve playfully shoves at him.

"Those are some interesting marks." Kevin says. Steve cranes his neck. He has always had scars across his back. He counts 11. They don't hurt and he doesn't remember where they came from. Maybe it was the incident that caused those scars that made Cecil hate him. He voices this out. Kevin smiles and says "You have 11 stripes. 11 is my favourite number."

Kevin's face is unharmed, unmarked, but when Steve washes him with the sponge, he notices that there are uneven patches everywhere.

"What happened?" Steve asks. Kevin smiles, big and bright, the way it should be.

"I was a naughty boy. I disobeyed the management and they had to discipline me." he says as if it is no big matter. Steve frowns. But Kevin is such a nice person. What could he have done?

Still, Kevin says he was ordered to forget his misdoings so Steve drops the subject and instead soaps Kevin up thoroughly. Very thoroughly.

 

 

 

  
Steve leaves before dawn. Kevin, sleepy-eyed, drives him to where Steve left his car. They kiss goodbye and Steve heads back to Night Vale. He pulls up to the driveway of his own house just as his neighbour comes out. Steve smiles. It's big, wide and happy.

"Hi." He says. The neighbour doesn't reply, only gives him a strange, affronted look but Steve doesn't care. The residual afterglow of last night is enough to make him smile for the entire day. He pretends to sleep and dreams of Kevin, licking over the stripes on his back. Kevin says they look like tiger stripes. Kevin says it's apt because Steve is a tiger in bed. Kevin says he is amazing.

Steve floats on a cloud of bliss and happiness. He doesn't question why the helicopters have taken another child. He doesn't write and tell cecil that the boxes being stacked up outside the dog park are just another ploy. A ploy to distract people from the fact that there is ongoing construction in the east area of Night Vale that appears to be a pool but can't possibly be one because they're in the desert.

His pretend sleep comes easy. Kevin has promised him the weekend.

 

 

 

  
Their weekend is lived out the backseats of their car. Kevin does get days off and he makes the best of them. They make instant noodles together over a fire. Wheat isn't banned in Desert Bluffs. It's mandatory, so Steve gets a rare treat. They slurp the soup, make roast marshmellows and then lie on a blanket to watch the stars. The void doesn't extend that far so Steve tells Kevin about the constellations. Kevin doesn't know much about astronomy and Steve only recalls bits and pieces from that one book he has in his home. They end up playing join the stars.

Kevin tries to join some to resemble Steve. It fails but Steve is flattered. They spell out all manners of words like "Strexcorp", "Radio", "Supper", and many others. Steve gets tired of it eventually so he leans over and kisses Kevin.

"I can't help but feel I know you from before." Kevin says. Steve feels the same way. They move to the backseat of Steve's tan Corolla. Making love on a blanket under the stars sounds romantic enough, but the romance dies when sand starts getting in places.

The backseat is comfortably crammed. Steve has to open the windows so they don't suffocate. Kevin shimmies out of his pants and wastes no time in swinging his legs over Steve's shoulders. Steve laughs and nibbles the backs of his knees.

Kevin is more vocal this time. In the wide expanse of the desert beyond the edges of Night Vale and Desert Bluffs, there are no noise restrictions levels. Kevin cries out when Steve takes him hard.

Steve savours the feeling of being connected so intimately with another human being. He has no memories of such an instance occuring in his life, ever. This, this is amazing. This is what he wants to hold on to forever. This is why he will shun death and flee from it, if he is only allowed to have Kevin, he will hold on forever.

Kevin seems to feel the same way. He is whimpering, begging, and crying for more and more and Steve gives it to him. His body seems to recall a rhythm, a method and he uses it ruthlessly to drag out all the noises Kevin makes.

Steve comes long and hard. Kevin's legs around his waist holding him inside until Steve goes limp and feels boneless.

"Marvelous." Kevin murmurs, his eyes closing halfway. Steve laughs. He climbs to the front seat and pulls the tiny lever to make it recline. He drapes a blanket over Kevin as the other man falls asleep. Steve closes his eyes and for the first time in what feels like years, he actually sleeps.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
It doesn't last. Of course it doesn't last.

Steve realizes this when he's at the edge of Night Vale and he can see Kevin's car just out of sight but there is a barrier of people in between.

"Every single time. Every single time!" Cecil says as he steps forward. Steve doesn't understand.

"When will you ever learn?" John Peters, the farmer, shouts. The people of Night Vale look unhappy. Kevin is weeping and crying and he is being taken away by ominous people in dark browns and greys while the Sheriff's Secret Police gather around Steve.

"What did we ever do to you?!" Steve demands. "We never did anything wrong! Is being in love so wrong?!" He shouts as an officer twists his arm behind his back.

"Under the laws made by the city council, consorting with any citizen of Desert Bluffs warrants re-education." The officer recites.

"What?!" Steve cries out in dismay. They try to force him into the car but Steve twists free.

"Come on. Please. He's perfect for me." He tries to appeal to Cecil, to anyone.

"You say that every time. There is no argument. The law is the law." Cecil says flatly. Steve wrestles away from grasping hands.

"Every time? I've only just met him!" He protests. Cecil turns away and police converge on Steve.

Something pinches the back of his neck and Steve descends into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
It is with a blinding headache that Steve Carlsberg wakes. He must have had too much CacJuice. He is sitting outside a mine shaft. He is sore all over and he is so very dusty. Still, he gets up and brushes himself off, then sets off for home. He smiles at Mr. Cross but Mr. Cross turns away. The grocers, Rico, everyone turns away when they see him. He wonders what is wrong. Still, he can't really be bothered to think that much about it. 

Steve strips and heads for the bathroom the moment he gets home. He can't wait to get clean. Ae he steps into the shower, he pauses to look at his reflection in the mirror.

There are stripes on his back.

He counts 12.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> It is possible for some people single-handedly turn an entire group against one person simply by stating the other is inferior. The silence can drive people to do things they never would have done.


End file.
